To Dubrovnik

After our first overnight train experience, and on the strong recommendation of some locals, I opted to upgrade us to the first class sleeping compartment on the way out of Zagreb. It was a little expensive: 400 kuna or about $80. Worth. Every. Penny. The extra $40 dollars gets you a miniature apartment (or oversized closet depending on your perspective) with a locking door, sink, climate control, and much more comfortable bed.

Our train arrived in Split a few minutes before 7:00 AM with us slightly rested. Getting to Dubrovnik is not a simple task; it is isolated on a narrow strip of land separated from the rest of the nation by a little slip of Bosnia and Herzegovina which interrupts the Croatian coastline near Ploče. Due to the 1990’s conflict and logistical problems, there is no direct rail connection. From Split, the southern most rail stop, the only choices available are either a day and a half ferry ride or a five hour bus ride. We got two bus tickets $40 and got rolling by 8:00.

Now, of the many archetypes of people that have started to annoy me on this trip, I think the know-it-all-hippie-backpacker (henceforth KIAHB) is currently at the top of my list. When we bought our tickets the cashier made it a point of telling us what seats we had been assigned, and I requested seats on what would be the east-facing side of the bus because I knew it would have a better view. As we boarded the bus a young Croatian guy was sitting in one of our seats. Erica politely asked him to move, but as he started to politely comply the KIAHB comes toward us and says smugly, “Umm…I hate to break it to you guys but this is C-R-O-A-T-I-A and reservations don’t happen here.” My response, “Well, they just did”. Seriously, if I have to deal with many more KIAHBs I’m going to decapitate one and parade his/her head around on a stick so that all KIAHBs will know to maintain a respectful distance…preferably at least one time zone.

The bus was ok, the scenery was incredible (PCH eat your heart out), but everything else about the ride sucked. Croatian roads are better than Ukrainian roads, but not much. The highway was a bumpy corkscrew path through the mountains along the coast. All the ancillary motion pretty much ruled out reading, writing, or thinking, and since I had left my IPOD in my backpack under the bus, I was subjected to the World Cup Dance Mix, which included The Macarena. Despite that every time I hear The Macarena I have a barely-resistible urge to jump out the window into oncoming traffic, I have decided that it contains the secret to world peace. I’m pretty sure every country in the world loves this song…which may also explain why the human race hasn’t been smart enough to figure out world peace.

The Macarena, sleep deprivation, KIAHBs, the sun-baked 3-day-old goat cheese pastry I had for breakfast, and tilt-a-whirl bus ride were making me really nauseous. But it was only when the ticket collector came by, carrying what I can only describe as the second generation of the abacus, that I almost threw up. It was his smell that almost got me. Actually the mix of two smells. Given the correct environmental surrounding and a temporary lapse in hygiene, people give off an odor that my brain interprets as a really pungent version of Cambell’s Chicken-Noodle Soup. Though, its not one of my favorite smells, this aroma did do me in alone. The second smell, also not physically revolting alone, was a liberally applied veneer of Old Spice. From about 7 feet away his signature flavour was wafting my direction and I could feel my face turning green. When he lingered next to my seat to re-calibrate the gears of his Abacus 2.0 ticket counter, I had put myself into a deep zen-like state to keep from covering his shoes in half-digested goat cheese pastry. I succeeded, which was good because he was a really nice guy.